


Lyrium and Raw Silk

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow





	1. Chapter 1

Like all things in Kirkwall, it happened after a long night of drinking at The Hanged Man. There were rousing rounds of Wicked Grace and Diamondback, arguments about who was cheating (Isabela,) who was too good at bluffing to be allowed to play (Fenris,) and one random brawl that ended only when both Fenris and Hawke got to their feet and glared at the participants, cowing them into slinking out of the tavern with their tails between their legs. After losing fifty gold and a handful of cracked opals, Hawke left with his apostate, throwing moon-eyed glances at the mage as they disappeared out into the Lowtown night. Varric won one hand for the sake of principle, then went upstairs to conduct a “business meeting” with some “associates,” leaving Isabela and Fenris sitting close, but not cozy, drinking the foul house specialty from dented metal tankards.

If it wasn’t for the names of the days, it could have been the night before, or the one before that, any night in Kirkwall that ended in inebriation and a lighter purse, with the denizens of the city falling into their beds, exhausted and spent, to rest up for another day in the City of Chains. But something was off-kilter, like the scent of ozone on a clear horizon, or a stranger’s smile pressed lightly against another’s lips.

Heads turned when the elves walked in. Kirkwall had its share of elves, of course, but save for Fenris and Merrill, few of them were willing to spend nights at The Hanged Man; there were too many humans, and too much staring and muttering from the usual patrons for most elves to be comfortable there. Instead, there was a small taproom in the Alienage, and a merchant in the Undercity selling wine for “fallen-off-of-the-back-of-a-cart” prices, and most were happy to take their coin there instead. But this was an unusual night, and these were unusual elves.

One of them had skin like burnt sugar, smooth and sunny though every exposed inch was flecked with scars. The dark wave of ink on his cheek moved with it, mobile and sleek as he smiled. He was earth tones: late harvest wheat in his hair, sun-kissed with gold, and his quick, flashing eyes were a shade darker than copper coins; they shined in just the same way. He wore fine leather and was festooned with daggers; they were strapped to his back and hanging off his belt, his boots no doubt concealing more.   
  
The other elf was alabaster and blood, thick, red hair flowing over slim shoulders like water. He wore the uniform of a Dalish: rough, skirted leather studded with tooth and horn, and thin leggings, with his feet wrapped in what resembled bandages. There were a myriad of small pouches, knives, and bottles hanging off of a belt that sat low on his hips, and an impressive bow strapped to the quiver on his back. That alone turned heads, but his face was what held them. He was fine-boned and taper-eared, like any elf, but had elegance in the curve of his neck and the tilt of his chin. The tattoo on his face was unique, curls and swoops of deep, saturated red, accenting high cheekbones and a fine nose, outlining his wide pale eyes like a delicate mask.

They moved like deer, graceful and wary as they wound around tables and patrons. The pale Dalish met eyes with Fenris where he sat with Isabela, and the ghost of a smile crept across the wild elf’s face as he passed. Fenris raised a brow, but the elf said nothing as he and his companion continued on. They sat near the fire and ordered ale, like there was nothing strange about them, as if the rest of the tavern was not staring as though expecting them to put on a show.   
  
An hour passed as the elves drank peacefully, appearing to note, but not acknowledge the whispers from the regulars. Fenris watched them out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the contrast of dark leather and pale skin, sage and ruddy maroon. If he had a type, and he wasn’t sure that he did, it would not be small, delicate elves with effeminate features and fragile limbs…yet…

“Are you going to hit on him or not?” He started at Isabela’s words, not that they surprised him, but he hadn’t expected them to be directly on his ear, coupled with the distracting brush of her lips. “I don’t think I can stand watching you stare at him like a mabari looks at roast lamb.”   
  
He only frowned at her and turned his gaze elsewhere.   
  
“I’m just saying, we’re not married, or something foolish like that, and it wouldn’t hurt for you to have a little more fun.”  
  
“Why does your idea of fun always involve strangers in bars?” Fenris asked dryly, swirling the ale in his half-empty tankard, wondering what animal must have died in the cask this time to make it taste so foul.

“Because it  _is_  fun. Besides, I’ve had them both, and I think you’d enjoy the redhead.” Fenris did not often show expressions of outright shock or disbelief, not now, not when Danarius had been dead for a year and he and Isabela had been spending nights together for nearly that time, but the raise of his eyebrows spoke volumes. “Oh don’t be so surprised; it was in Ferelden. There’s nothing better to do in that backwater hole other than have sex.”

“So I’ve heard—from you, mostly.”   
  
“You can’t tell me that all of that staring is just out of curiosity alone, you’ve seen Dalish elves before and never given them a second look.”   
  
“He is striking.” Fenris shrugged, willing to admit that and nothing more.   
  
“He likes wine.” A smile not unlike the one that graced the lips of desire demons planted itself on Isabela’s face, and she put her lips again to Fenris’ reactive, twitching ear. “I know there’s another case of Pavali in your basement. I bet with a bottle and a firm hand, you could make him purr.” Fenris shrugged her hand off of his shoulder, the tips of his ears pink.

“Why are you so invested in this?”   
  
“I want to hear the story afterwards, of course.”   
  
“If you’re so interested, I’m sure you could approach him. As you say, you’ve had him before.”   
  
“Oh, I have,” said Isabela, with the same lack of shame that she always had when it came to her conquests, “and he was terrible fun, but his eyes are on you, not me. Look.” Fenris glanced quickly out of the corner of his eyes, confirming Isabela’s claim as the Dalish met his gaze from across the room, one corner of his lips twitching in what could have looked mocking if not for the sweetness in his pale eyes.

“What of his companion?” Fenris asked after turning his attention back to Isabela, firmly telling himself that he was not considering anything, just indulging a bit of logistical curiosity.  
  
“I can keep him busy.”   
  
“No doubt you can.” Fenris chuckled into his mug, draining the dregs of ale, thinking that Pavali might be a welcome change from the swill in his tankard. Isabela slid out of her seat and strode across to the fire, addressing the elves with a wide smile and animated gesturing. He heard names, though he was not sure which the pair was Zevran and which was Theron, neither name sounded particularly Dalish, though he admitted not knowing much about Dalish naming conventions. The blond elf, speaking in what sounded like an Antivan accent greeted Isabela with the familiarity of an old friend, leaping to his feet to wrap his arms around her, and, as Fenris noticed with no small amount of amusement, grab generous handfuls of her backside. The other elf was subdued, fine face breaking into sweet smiles, his skin lining less around the eyes than the other, though he seemed just as pleased to see her.

The door to The Hanged Man opened, and a loud, boisterous crowd came in, singing drinking songs about dog lords and mabari tits, drowning out Isabela’s words so that Fenris could only watch them interact in pantomime. The Antivan gestured wildly, and Fenris suspected that whatever story was being told was probably exaggerated, having seen similar gesticulations from Isabela when she was telling a particularly good lie. Isabela then threw an arm around his shoulders and started to drag him off, the new crowd quieting enough for him to hear her telling the other elf not to wait up for them. She and the Antivan disappeared up the stairs together, leaving the Dalish sitting alone with his ale, looking distinctly unperturbed at his solitude.   
  
Fenris sighed through his nose; this was just like Isabela, to have an idea and an unflappable determination to see it out, regardless of the sense in it. Yes, the elf was attractive in an aesthetic sense, but unlike Isabela, Fenris hardly felt the need to go to bed with every attractive person he laid eyes on—he’d never get anything done if he did.   
  
From the fire, the Dalish smiled at him before turning coquettish eyes back towards the flames. Fenris looked at his empty mug, the empty chair beside him, and got to his feet. There was no harm in saying hello.

“So, you’re Fenris,” the elf said, giving him a bit of a start. He had expected introductions to be necessary as he sat down across from him, following the lines of the tattoo on his chin with a curious gaze.   
  
“You know of me?”   
  
“I have heard your description in my travels; tall, dark-skinned elves with white markings that are not vallaslin are in fairly short supply. Your reputation precedes your appearance, it seems.” The Dalish spoke in the familiar lilting accent of the elves on Sundermount, though sounded nothing like Merrill or the city elves that Fenris had met since coming to Kirkwall. He spoke low and deliberately, unhurried, and unhampered by the ale.   
  
“I am at a disadvantage, then, because I know nothing of you.”

“Good.” The elf smiled. “I am a private man; I would be disappointed to know you already knew everything about me.” He pushed a long tendril of red hair behind his ear, a gold earring sparkling as it was exposed. My name is Theron Mahariel, and if you’ve heard that name, you know why I prefer anonymity.”   
  
“I can’t say that I’ve heard of you, so I suppose whatever reputation you are trying to outrun has not spread to Kirkwall.”   
  
“How fortunate.” Theron laced his fingers on the table, favoring Fenris with an intense gaze. “I see Isabela deserted you.”   
  
Fenris chuckled, drumming his fingers lightly against the table, gauntlets clicking against the wood. “She is what she is.”   
  
“Aren’t we all?”   
  
There was a silence between them, then, but not a bad one. It was filled with the crackling of the fire and the ambient lull of drunken voices. It was not awkward, not in the way of people who felt the need to fill every moment with chatter and pointless conversation. A smile played over Fenris’ lips—it was a rare person who appreciated the companionable quiet.   
  
“Tell me, have you ever had Aggregio Pavali?”


	2. Chapter 2

Theron could never understand why elves lived indoors, especially when they chose places like this. He had seen palaces with marble stonework and lush murals on the ceiling, and even in those lavish settings he preferred the feral intimacy of a tent and a bedroll in the deep, impossible to track woods. Fenris’ mansion was barren and dark, and had a smell of dust and disuse, but curiosity was powerful, and Theron crept behind Fenris, light-footed like a cat, indulging it. He was thankful for the leather wrapping on his feet as he danced around broken tiles and overturned furniture, catching the sense of apology in Fenris’ smile as he lead him up the stairs, hopping the broken one, the metal fingers of his gauntlets wrapped loosely around the neck of a black glass bottle.

“No glasses?” Theron lowered himself onto one of the benches near the fireplace as Fenris struck flint to steel and the kindling sparked to life. He put the bottle to his lips anyway; it was earthy and deep, like late summer raspberries, and felt like raw silk in his mouth. Placing the bottle between his legs, he rested one foot on his knee, finding the end to the long strip of leather and slowly unwrapping it, proffering the bottle when Fenris glanced at it.   
  
“I hadn’t planned on guests.” Fenris’ smile was wry as he sat across from Theron and took the bottle, unguarded interest in his eyes as Theron finished the process with one “boot” and started on the other. After that pause, he returned the wine and began to remove his gauntlets, unbuckling them from the strap at his elbow. “Next time I’ll make sure to take the fine crystal out of storage.” Theron chuckled, favoring Fenris with a playful smile, his eyes half-lidded as he turned his gaze to the fire, flexing his bare feet towards the growing warmth. But Fenris’ eyes were on him, and he felt the weight of that stare as he took a long pull of the wine.

When Theron did not return the bottle, Fenris leaned forward to take it from him, and Theron smiled, clutching it closer and shaking his head. He put it to his lips again, this time only dragging the mouth slowly against his lower lip, mischief in his eyes when they met Fenris’. He tilted the bottle, threw his head back, and downed another long swallow, his Adam’s apple bouncing as warmth spread through him not just from the liquor, but from the intensity in Fenris’ gaze. A single red droplet rolled down his lower lip, and he caught it with his tongue, slowly wetting his lips as he took it into his mouth.   
  
There were no words, only a cacophony of lower lashes and curled lips. When Fenris’ eyebrow raised in silent inquiry, the message in the tilt of Theron’s head was clear.

_Come get me._

Fenris got to his feet, looking cautiously down at the bottle in Theron’s hand, his appreciative gaze trailing up to the curve of his neck, finding the white, ugly scar under his ear and liking it; blemishes that disrupted perfection were tantalizing in an incomparable way. He licked his lips, and Theron, noting the direction of his gaze with the appraising, steady eye of an archer, brushed his hair over to the opposite shoulder, baring his neck and the long, jagged scar completely.   
  
“I would think you’d want to hide that.” Fenris dropped a hand and ran a finger slowly over the scar tissue, testing his boundaries, a small smirk crossing his lips when Theron’s ear twitched.   
  
“You don’t hide yours.” Theron’s eyes fluttered shut and he tilted his head into Fenris’ touch, encouraging him with a soft, contented sigh.   
  
“So I don’t.” Fenris trailed that finger down Theron’s jawline, pausing when he reached the vallaslin to press the pad of his fingertip firmly against the red whorls on Theron’s chin. Theron dipped his head, brushing his lips against Fenris’ hand.

That was all it took; there was a flurry of confusion as Theron got to his feet and backed over the bench, stumbling against the wall as Fenris pursued him. There was no fear in his eyes, wide and careful as they were, it was a chase, a game, a tantalizing invitation to follow and to hold him still lest Fenris have to go after him again. Theron laughed, playful and light, as Fenris pressed him to the wall, easily holding him there. He smiled, warm and toothy, then licked one of the white markings on Fenris’ chin.   
  
Fenris caught his hands, then his lips, and held them firmly. Theron tasted Pavali on his tongue when it insinuated itself between his lips, and he writhed against Fenris’ weight, finding one thigh and shoving his hips against it, growling deep and pleased when he felt teeth on his lower lip, pinching and tugging. With his arms pinned, he could do little other than press himself up against Fenris’ thigh, his growing erection already evident through thin leggings.

His lips were wet when Fenris released him, and instead of using that moment to breathe, he grabbed him, throwing his arms over his shoulders and stretching onto his toes to overcome the significant height difference between them. Fenris’ hands under Theron’s thighs lifted him the extra distance, and Theron hooked his legs around Fenris’ waist as he backed away from the wall, nipping at Theron’s neck while carrying him to the bed.   
  
“Harder.” Theron threw back his head, a whimper in his throat when Fenris’ teeth came down roughly on his neck. His fingers dug into the thin leather on Fenris’ shoulders as his tongue soothed the bitten skin. “Like that,” Theron said, his voice husky and thick. “But harder.”   
  
“If I bite any harder I’ll bruise you.” Upon reaching the bed, Fenris lowered Theron onto it, taking a moment to unstrap his breastplate, distracted at the sight of Theron spreading himself out, shedding his belt and cuirass, stretching his arms over his head, his pale skin ghostly in the flickering firelight.   
  
“Bruise me, then.” Theron draped himself over Fenris’ pillow, and the intimacy of being in a stranger’s bed was striking, his skin finding the places that Fenris’ had, tasting it on his tongue like the Pavali, rich and heady. “I can take it.”

Fenris’ gaze raked over him, and as he climbed onto the bed, straddling Theron and putting one hand on his skin, somehow expecting it to be cool and smooth like marble, he saw the scars, the road map of a life hard lived. He touched them, running his fingers over the raised scar tissue, shifting his legs when Theron bent one knee, letting Fenris rest his weight on his thigh. “I bet you can.” When his teeth grazed his collarbone, Theron grabbed a handful of the quilt, his lips parted silently, head tilted back, entirely open and wanting as Fenris bit down, Theron’s skin flushing red and warm.   
  
They tangled together, Theron’s skin dotted with angry red welts, raised then soothed and suckled until he grabbed Fenris and tugged him up to kiss him, heated and hungry. When they parted, they were blood-flushed and wide-eyed, pupils blown and jaws slack, gasping at one another as if in awe of the ferocity of their passion. When Fenris shook off the momentary daze, he pushed Theron to the mattress, covering him with his body and holding him still, his gaze trained on Theron’s red, twitching ears. He bit down on one, and the cry that Theron emitted was desperate and husky and loud enough to echo off of the walls. He pressed himself shamelessly to Fenris’ thigh, rubbing his cock against him, desperately grinding and arching his back, somehow only urged on by the lack of motion that Fenris allowed him. As if as an afterthought, Fenris snaked his hand between their bodies, trailing his thumb over the outline of Theron’s erection, making no attempt to unlace his leggings as he explored him, now sucking on Therons ear, unexpectedly heated by the sensation of it twitching in his mouth.

As Fenris’ hand slid between Theron’s legs, he rocked against it, groaning and huffing until Fenris stopped to raise a brow at him. “Are you always this loud?” He asked, pulling loose the laces and putting his hand down Theron’s pants, cupping him through his smallclothes.   
  
“Are you always this intense?” Theron grinned, shoving his hips upwards, pressing his cock firmly into Fenris’ warm hand, reaching out with his tongue to lick Fenris’ lips when he lowered himself onto him again, pressing it into his open mouth and growling playfully when he pulled away, grabbing his lower lip in his teeth. Fenris bared his teeth at him, the tips of his ears red as he leaned back on his heels, grabbing the waist of Theron’s leggings and pulling them down. Theron lifted his hips to help, spreading his legs comfortably when he was bare, curling his toes into the quilt and sitting up to pull Fenris back down with him, running his hands down the sides of his tunic. “Are you going to keep your clothes on?” Theron asked, sounding content as Fenris lowered his head to press his lips against Theron’s ear.   
  
“I may.”   
  
“Mmm. I like that.” Theron pulled Fenris’ hand to his lips, licking the pad of his thumb before biting down on it lightly.

“Oh?” Fenris slid his first two fingers into Theron’s mouth, a small smirk on his lips when Theron simply nodded as an answer, busy caressing Fenris’ fingers with his tongue, his wide eyes trained on Fenris’, a long soft sigh escaping his nose when Fenris moved to lick the shell of his elongated ear, nipping the lobe then sucking on it to soothe the flushed skin. When he removed his fingers and dropped his hand again between Theron’s legs, he ran the dampness over the head of Theron’s cock, rubbing in slow circles, tracing the slit with the very tip of his finger. Theron went incoherent, arching and bucking, his eyes rolling back then screwing shut.   
  
Fenris repositioned himself between Theron’s legs, pushing them apart and shoving his knees underneath them, forcing Theron’s hips up and pulling him closer, holding his stomach down with a hand as he wrapped the other around around his cock, sliding up the loose skin at the base in a slow, but steady rhythm. Theron said something in Elvish that Fenris recognized as a curse from the tone alone, and he smirked, holding him still as he stroked him. Through the fog of lust and wine, he was vaguely aware of being amused by how much control that Theron was willing to give away, and startled by how much he liked taking it. Normally it would have troubled him, but it almost seemed disrespectful to refuse what as so freely given, and as Theron cried out at the press of Fenris’ teeth against his inner thigh, Fenris smiled.

“You have beautiful skin,” Fenris said, running a finger over a visible bite mark on his stomach. “It almost seems a shame to put marks on it.” Theron tilted his head up to see what Fenris meant, then, with a little smile, brushed his hand over the welt, chuckling low in his throat.   
  
“It’ll heal. Keep going.” Theron huffed and twisted when Fenris sped and tightened his grip, biting down hard on his lower lip.   
  
“Your…friend won’t mind?” Fenris nipped at his thigh again, distracting him.

“He knows my taste. Surely Isabela knows yours.” He sighed, trying to brace his feet on the mattress, unable to because how how Fenris had him propped up. “Are you a tease with her, too?”   
  
Fenris smirked. “I could just stop,” he said, running his thumb over the head of Theron’s cock again, watching his ears twitch. “Maybe I should, if you think I’m such a tease.” But he leaned over Theron as he spoke, pushing his legs back against his chest as he pressed his weight onto them, brushing his lips against Theron’s. “I think you like it though.” He nudged Theron’s head back with his nose, biting down roughly on his neck, feeling Theron’s fingers digging into his hips and yanking him forward. When he lifted from Theron’s neck, his hands were on the back of his head, holding him so he could press their lips together, crying out into his mouth when Fenris stroked him faster. Theron dropped his hands weakly to the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the quilt as he came, tossing his head to the side as Fenris came down for another kiss, gasping when he licked his ear instead.

Fenris gave him a moment, resting back on his heels again, letting him catch his breath and tossing him a clean cloth from the folded pile near his end of the bed after wiping his hands on it. Theron laughed, making no attempt to catch it, raking back sweat damp hair as his breathing steadied.   
  
“You can tease me all you want,” he said with a murmured chuckle, sitting up and wiping off his belly. Without another moment’s pause he was on Fenris, pressing his naked body to his tight armor, easing him back into a sitting position with his legs spread so that he could drop between them, cupping the bulge in Fenris’ leggings, watching Fenris’ face as his eyes closed and he sighed quietly through his nose. Theron lowered himself between his legs, pressing his thighs apart further, then nuzzling his stomach lightly, fingers finding the laces to his leggings. He waited, raising a brow, tugging the laces but not untying them, only proceeding when Fenris nodded.   
  
He only opened his trousers enough to release his cock, immediately running his tongue against it, then taking it into his mouth. Fenris did not gasp or groan the way Theron did, and he listened closely for signs of encouragement as he bobbed his head, taking him as deep as he could, then releasing him to the tip, swirling his tongue in slow circles around it. When he parted his lips to huff lightly, Theron took his hand and placed it on the top of his head, encouraging him, groaning in his throat when Fenris grabbed a handful of his long hair.

Theron tried to take his time, but Fenris was impatient, pushing down his head or bucking his hips, until Theron finally wrapped one hand around the base of Fenris’ cock and stroked him fast, tonguing the tip until he swallowed the mouthful of thick and salt, and Fenris’ head was tilted back, lips parted in silent satisfaction.   
  
Theron slid off the bed, bare feet silent as he crossed to the fire, picking up the half-empty bottle of Aggregio Pavali and taking it back to the bed, downing a long swig as he did. He handed it to Fenris, who took it gratefully while pulling Theron back into his lap, smoothing his hair where his fingers had tangled it.   
  
“It’s a pity I’m not staying in Kirkwall long,” Theron said, taking the wine and putting it to his lips. “If you’re always that fun, I could see myself hanging around.”

“Leaving soon?” **  
  
** “Mm, to Antiva. Places to go, people to kill. You know how it is.” Theron licked the rim of the bottle. “A pity. I haven’t even gotten to see what you look like naked.”   
  
“The night is still young,” Fenris said, taking the empty bottle from Theron and peering into it, “and there is more Pavali in the basement.”   
  
With a chuckle, a grin, and a lingering kiss to one of Fenris’ long, pink-tipped ears, Theron gave himself over again, shuddering at the hands on his bare back. “I like the way you think,” he said, his voice low and rumbly, as if he were purring like a cat. “Isabela said I would.”   
  
“Oh did she?” Fenris asked with a chuckle, much less surprised than he ought to be as he lowered Theron again onto his back, reminding himself to thank her in the morning. A morning that was, fortunately, still hours, and hours away.


End file.
